2005, Hollah atcha boy

Thank you 2005 for…

…all the great experiences. Some of my favorites? One was watching one of my best friends, Nicole Paige Brooks’ ascension to headliner diva status, opening for Kristine W, Deborah Cox and Inaya Day. I’d be hard pressed to find another entertainer with all those names on her resume.

Another was during Halloween weekend when Barry Harris called out sick from his gig at Jungle. Not to say someone’s illness caused my happiness, but when he called out, I got to call in another dear friend, local DJ diva Kim Crawford to step up and take his gig. I’m proud she took the opportunity and ran with it – and turned every faggot out in that building.

I also have the distinction of being Charlie Brown’s first date in over 20 years. Yeah, bitches, the only other person that can say he went on a date with Charlie Brown is Fred. I got to attend the Community Builder/Best Of Gay Atlanta Awards with the Bitch of the South and although the event itself was boring as hell, Charlie was a great date and had me in stitches all night.

Speaking of playing chauffeur, I got to play driver to some of my closest friends the Dancing Diva Shawnna Brooks and the white trophy bitch Ashley Kruiz. There have been just too many adventures with these two to count in 2005. And, for that reason alone, I look forward to 2006 with giddy anticipation.

Gracias to the wonderful Brad Williams and Bill Kaelin, two friends I’m happy to call my mentors. Through all my nightlife travels and adventures, I’ve never met two people that influence the way I think and conduct myself than these two dapper gentlemen. They encompass all the qualities I strive to find in myself: successful, kind, generous, intelligent, bold and influential. Thanks guys for all the advice and love.

I’d also like to extend my deepest gratitude to 2005 for all the new friends. Well, not so much new, but getting to know acquaintances better. The lovely Jade Daniels, a true inspiration in creativity; Gigi Monroe, Atlanta’s first Drag Idol, a clever entertainer with productions to rival national title holders. For the record, Drag Idol would not have been the success it was without these two ladies. The main draw for everyone was to see what these two brilliant minds were going to come up with.

To Genre and Rogue, thanks for bringing glam and shock back to the stage; Scott and Adam, the guardians of the groove at Jungle, they’re the first two faces you see every time you stroll in – and what a sight to see I may add. To Lauren LaMasters and Alexandria Martin, thanks for all the laughs – if laughter is the best medicine, you two would be the Johnson & Johnson of Atlanta.

I also want to say Danke 2005 for all those wonderful people that put a smile on my face every time I see them. To the extended family, Nicholas, Hartwell, Wes, Luke, Alex, Joshua, Danny, Jory, Janelle and Jazelle – welcome to the fam. Yeah, what an interesting future nightlife has with this group of wicked cuties. On that note, can we adopt another DJ into the dynasty? Wes, will you get right on that? I’ve given you enough tracks for an entire set I do believe. There are just too many clubs in Atlanta for Miss Kim to cover them all.

Don’t get me wrong, 2005 had its share of “that’s fucked up” moments, but at the end of the year, I like to tally up all the smiles and chuckles instead. Now, in an odd twist of fate, my favorite moment of 2005 was the Sunday of Pride Weekend. It was gloomy and rainy, but Nicole, Destiny, Angelica, Jade and I had the best time on the David Atlanta float. We were drunk, um caffeinated and as colorful as can be against that dreary backdrop. It’s kind of amazing how the entire year could be summed up in that one hour.

2006, bring it on bitch.

My AIM

Instant messages are dangerous. It’s the “power of the keyboard.” People just say things they normally wouldn’t say in a more intimate setting aka face-to-face. Let me revise that, normal people say things they wouldn’t say in a typical setting. Then, there are the special cases like drag queens, Type As, moi that could give a shit and say and do what they please.

But I digress; my point is that instant messages are dangerous. Take today for example. My buddy Scott was online so I zipped him an IM saying “King Kong me daddy.” Now, before any of you start, Scott and I have been conspiring to see King Kong in the near future, hence the opening line.

From there the conversation just got more interesting. I truthfully joked about longing to be submissive, but figured my reflexive penchant for quips didn’t make me a strong candidate to be a boy. I could just picture the scenario now.

Master: Get on your knees, boy.
Me: Have you lost your damn mind?
Master: Enough of that lip. (Stuffs ball gag in my mouth.)
Me: Mmm mmm mmm-mmm mmm mm mm! (Translation: Get this fucking thing off me!)

So, there I would be living out my fantasy and can’t even mutter the safety word because my master got tired of my lip.

That’s when I realized how vanilla I truly am. I don’t like added accessories with my sex. Hell, I don’t like additional people. I even fast-forward through the threesomes and orgies in porn. In one IM, I discovered that not only was I vanilla, but a prude to boot.

This truly was not a good self realization for someone that considers himself as a progressive thinker.

There I was in one instant message discovering my true identity as a vanilla prude with a ball gag stuffed in my mouth for being a smart ass. Instant Messages are truly dangerous.

Danke

I’m truly thankful for a lot of things. Ok, so maybe it did take a gluttonous holiday like Thanksgiving to make me realize the more important things in life. So, while in my turkey induced coma, I started making a mental checklist for all that I’m thankful for – my friends and family was sitting on the very top of the list.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, my friends are my heroes. They’re all overachievers and never cease to amaze or inspire me. They put up with my mood swings. They let me vent. They listen and nod their heads even when I’m being completely irrational. They make me laugh on my bluest of days. They are perpetually reminding me that there are better days to come.

They keep me grounded, lifted, traumatized, giggling, fashionable, frustrated, trendy, social, drunk, confused, late, caffeinated and moving.

In short, they complete me.

Thank Buddha.

And to CC, my deepest gratitude for just being you.

Accio Viktor Krum

On Friday, being the big dork that I am, I had to see Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire on its opening day. After calling around, I found a movie companion in Genre. For the record, I adore Genre’s crazy ass – he cracks me up and doesn’t even mean to I don’t think.

For the record, Goblet of Fire was my favorite of all the HP books. I found the movie well for the lack of a better term, rushed. I mean, I totally understand that GOF kicked off Rowling’s mountain troll size books, but if Lord of the Rings can clock in at three hours, why not Harry Potter?

Most of my favorite chapters were condensed into minutes and several of the characters were either afterthoughts or disappeared from the storyline altogether. Where was my Dobby? Why was Sirius completely shut out minus a brief conversation with Harry in the fireplace? Why didn’t they have more emphasis on Rita Skeeter’s busy ass?

Thankfully, it wasn’t as artsy as Prisoner of Azkaban nor as simplified as Sorcerer’s Stone or Chamber of Secrets. It was as dark and creepy as I expected and the computer graphics were definitely top notch. Oh, and Viktor Krum? Yummy, bitches. Genre and I were giddy schoolgirls compared to the giddy schoolgirls we were sitting behind. Sadly, Viktor was fully clothed in all of his scenes with the exceptions of two quick tank top shots. Curses.

Don’t get me wrong, the movie was fantastic and I’ll probably see it two more times in the theatres and buy it the first day it comes out on DVD next year. Yeah, I’m a big dork.

Bedtime Story

...three years ago yesterday to be exact, a connection was made. It started with a smile, a few drinks (okay, a lot of drinks) and the borrowing of a cigarette. Since then, the details have been obscured by slight variations in perception.

He followed him up the steps. Once the eyes met, the attraction was mutual. He asked for a cigarette. He would have given him the whole pack. He lit the cigarette and then offered to buy him a drink. They made fun of the bad drag and cards were exchanged. All in all, it was the quintessential introduction.

The next three years comprised of on again/off again FUN (yes, big uppercase letters). There were disagreements, heart to hearts, makeups, breakups and everything in between. But, no matter where one went, sooner or later the other would be waiting just down the road somewhere with that unbelievable kiss.

They were good for each other, despite how much either didn’t want to admit it. One would say too much, the other not enough, Ying would forget, Yang would recall in detail, A had been there done that while B would try to reinvent the wheel.

Now, three years later, regardless of circumstance, they’re still working on the proverbial storybook “ever after.”

That's the Way I Feel...

It’s nearly 11 am and the phone is already ringing off the hook. People that know me know I can’t be bothered until after lunchtime. But, for some reason there’s something about today that has everyone needing to tell me something.

Apparently, some of my friends feel my column was being attacked by the DA’s Deputy Editor. Umm, big fucking deal. So, by the second cup of coffee, the mix of sugar, caffeine, artificial hazelnut and curiosity gets me to check the website.

So they have him penning a new “night life” column. Hate to break it to you, but if it’s written in the same ho-hum book report style that you write everything else in, then no one’s going to read it. So you can go ahead and save your cab fare. Don’t try to sass me, like Margaret Cho, I was raised by drag queens.

What the staff doesn’t seem to understand is that the reason why I wrote in such an “exclusive” tone is because the readers are smart enough to know what I’m talking about. The majority of the people that read my column GO OUT. There’s no fine line between knowing your audience and belaboring the obvious.

Word travels fast in the queer community. This blog is proof of that. I’m getting more response off this blog than any column I wrote for DA. It shows people are interested in what I have to say. I like the fact that I have good friends in the night life industry. And, I have a lot of them. None of my readers are average and Guest List was/is written for them. It entertains the people that entertain everyone else.

Go ahead and make your rounds, write about it and the response will be along the same lines of my own reaction: Big fucking deal.

Surprise, Surprise

My rules for surprises and secrets are pretty standard. Generally, I love surprises, but only if it’s truly a surprise. And, as for secrets – if it’s not my story to tell, then it doesn’t go any further than me. Now, if EVERYONE is telling the same secret, then it’s no longer a secret but public speculation.

This past Friday, the surprise performer for WETbar’s grand opening was Missy Elliott. Umm, yeah there wasn’t much of a surprise. Hell, I could have gotten her flight number if I really put some effort into it. And, why was management so tight lipped about it? Hate to break it you fellas, but when the trannies are talking about it – you can drop the secret agent routine. The jig is up.

In the grand tradition of Cyndi Lauper and Shannon, Misdemeanor wobbled on stage on crutches. And, just as suspected, Missy’s anthems sounded a bit out of place in a queer club sans the hands-in-the-air remixes, well with the exceptions of My Sister’s Room, Jungle’s Stars of the Century Monday nights and maybe Charlie Brown’s Cabaret. .

Next up on the surprise performer list was Vivian Green, err I mean sort of a surprise Jodi Watley. You see, Vivian was originally booked but (enter artist excuse here, i.e. missed her plane, was really sick, gave birth to a child, passed a kidney stone, joined the military), so Jodi was brought in to be the second surprise performer. Once again, not a big surprise over here, Shawnna and Ashley were trying to figure out how to get out of the Cabaret on Thursday just to see Jodi. It’s a shame half the people in WETbar never even heard of Vivian or Jodi for that matter.

Now the biggest surprise was Junior’s abrupt departure from the DJ booth. Okay, so yeah, that wasn’t a surprise either. Come on now, it’s JUNIOR. And, for the record, never ask a DJ to stop in the middle of their set (especially after two performances) just so you can wish someone a happy birthday on the mic.

Would the owner of Philips Arena ask Bono to stop U2 just so he can say Happy Mother’s Day to his mum? And, before you guys start, yeah it’s the same fucking thing.

I totally plan to go back to WETbar in a few weeks, once the hoopla dies down. For the record, the venue is beautiful and the sound is immaculate, the S&M wannabe hipsters -- well, in a few weeks hopefully they’ll be on to their next destination to stand and model. Until then, I’ll be working on my surprise face.

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

LAST NIGHT WAS A FAREWELL PARTY TO END ALL FAREWELL PARTIES AT CHERRY. The packed out Oriental-fusion restaurant was full of friends and family wishing the ATL's beloved Phoenix bon voyage.

The second generation of the House of Brooks is on her way to LA to pursue her career as the ultimate Circuit Diva. Folks, she's well on her way. Here in Atlanta, her options were limited and, just like in most cases, her talent wasn't as appreciated until she was gone -- or on her way out the door.

I've watched this entertainer grow and grow for the past few years and I wish her the best of luck. Honestly, I don't think she'll need it. The girl has got talent and a drag-mama (see: Nicole) and drag-grandmamma (see: Shawnna) that have raised her right.

Right before we arrived at Cherry, I stopped by Chapter 11 in Ansley to pick up a good-bye present for Phoenix. I wanted to give her something that would remind her how much she is loved in Atlanta, so much that we want her to excel and never come back because she's so fucking successful.

Funny thing is no other book can really reflect that kind of encouragement than Dr. Seuss’ “Oh, the Places You’ll Go.”

All you really have to do is read the first page:

Congratulations!
Today is your day.
You're off to Great Places!
You're off and away!

You have brains in your head.
You have feet in your shoes
You can steer yourself
any direction you choose.
You're on your own. And you know what you know.
And YOU are the guy who'll decide where to go.

I think it describes the next step in Phoenix’s journey to the proverbial “T.”

Guest List That Never Was

Tricks, Treats and Tragedies
The Best and Worst of Halloween Weekend in the Gay-T-L

There are three weekends a year where everyone and their mama comes out. These are the weekends when you’re bound to run into roadblocks, amateur alcoholics and really bad drag queens. These weekends are Pride, New Year’s and, of course, Halloween.

While my adorable friend Mike and I had dinner at Cowtippers debating whether or not to deal with the onslaught of inbound OTPers, I was inspired by Thacker’s always cool and calm demeanor to brave the obnoxious queers one more time. I figured, hell if Thacker can deal with these idiots all day, then I can too.

So, in true Guest List fashion, we’re dishing up the Best (and Worst) that Halloween weekend had to offer.

Halloween MVP: Kim Crawford

On Saturday, Oct. 29, Jungle received a phone call that would otherwise mean the demise of a successful event. It appeared ATL favorite Barry Harris was extremely under the weather and would not make the gig.

Just hours before doors opened, DJ Diva Kim Crawford accepted the challenge of filling in for the former Thunderpuss DJ Demigod. While some local DJs may have been intimidated by the daunting task, the Lady Crawford turned Jungle into her own personal playground.

The packed to the rafters crowd reflected back a wicked response of cheers and plenty of hands in the air action. Fruitcake bad boys Fernando Jardim and Rob Tyrell, Red Chair manager Patrick Finger, Redcap Artist Joe Ragsdale were all seen either dancing along or running up to the booth to congratulate the woman that deserves this year’s Halloween MVP. Atta girl, Kim.

Best Group Costume: The Glamazons

We have to give it up to the Armory’s Glamazons for this year’s Best Group Costume. Not only did they turn out their Rocky Horror Picture Show outfits, but Ziggy, China, Gigi Monroe, extended cast members Genre, Summer K. Night and Brent Star turned out Charlie Brown’s Cabaret with a few segments from the cult classic musical on Sunday, Oct. 30.

Best Individual Costume: (Tie) Ashley Kruiz / Bubba D. Licious

Although she didn’t officially enter any local costume contests, we feel the mere thought of Ashley Kruiz entering would make every other contestant run for cover. Yes, we’re talking about Ashley’s vaunted triple threat Patsy Cline into Annie Lennox into Vixen “Sweet Dreams” talent. Anyone lucky enough to be in Underground on Halloween Weekend was able to catch this unbelievable performance.

Our other recipient is none other than Bubba D. Licious for her signature Halloween illusion, Cruela D. Licious. At Nickiemoto’s on Halloween night, Bubba brought back her always entertaining 101 Dalmatians Villain to the delight of the Drag-A-Maki diners. It cracks us up every year.

Most Cliché Halloween Song: “Thriller”

Please, we beg of every DJ in the world, enough already.

Best Staff Costume Theme: (Tie) Blake’s on the Park / Jungle

With their ER inspired motif, Blake’s on the Park definitely gets points for the sexy factor. Their bartenders, door staff, barbacks and even management team were all seen in hospital scrubs all weekend. Sorry, Ruby but George Clooney rubber gloves do not make. Now, Jason and Stephen on the other hand, where do we sign-up for physicals?

Jungle gets a nod for their walking dead theme. Paula Sinclair makes the loveliest corpse we’ve seen this side of Netherworld. Brad Williams, you seemed to have dropped your bullet wounds somewhere. And did anyone else clock bartenders Andrew and Tony H? We never though we’d be into necrophilia. Bring me to life, indeed.

For more random thoughts from the Mild Mannered Reporter, check out
www.theguestlist.blogspot.com

Can Ya' Spare A Little Change?

AS THE OLD ADAGE GOES, "when one door closes, a new one opens." In my lifetime, I've learned for this testament to be more true than not. As another old adage goes, "a change will do you good." Yeah, it really can.

The other day I received the news that Guest List would be cut from the pages of David Atlanta. There are several reasons why this came to be -- some I can live with, some just outrage me. In either case, I've learned there's nothing I can do about it.

Quite frankly, it's not worth the effort. If I chose to fight it, this decision would have come despite my best arguments. I'll take comfort in the fact that the ex-club owner that gave the half-truths which were the catalyst to the end of Guest List in David won't be able to succeed in his latest ventures.

To be fair, the option to continue writing features and such was extended, however I chose to be taken off the masthead immediately.

Last night, the crew and I started spreading word that Guest List was cut. The reactions were outrageous. One of my fans (yeah, it still puzzles me to say that I have fans) actually dropped his drink. He was truly gagged. I was pleased that so many people say they only pick up David to read my column and my column alone. I'm not looking for the validation, but it's humbling to know that my talent is appreciated.

I'm delighted to report that Guest List will be back in print at a different home in just a few short weeks. The wheels are well in motion for the move and I can't be more ecstatic. Oh, and quite possibly, I'll be working with my dear friend Chante LaGon again. I love her. She's arguably the best damn editor I've ever worked with. All right, to be totally fair, Chante is neck and neck with TrayB in my book. Both of these word divas have influenced me more than they could ever realize.

Yeah, working with Chante will be like old times. How does that other old adage go? Plus ce change, plus ce meme chose.

The more things change, the more they stay the same, indeed.

Gotta Go, Gotta Go

I CAN'T SIT STILL. I usually blame my A.D.D. or perhaps it may be a penchant for boredom. Who knows? Early last night, I got a phone call from Brad saying I should stop by Jungle early for the Miss Dixie Bowling Pageant. Umm, yeah. It was cute, these girls are all about their fifteen minutes of pageant glory. I mean their talents were quite a production. You would think they spent the entire year for this one pageant.

After a little while, it was time to move on to the next venue. I ended up at Blake's where Ruby was kind enough to give me enough VIP passes to WET's grand opening to get the entire crew inside. I ran into Alexandria and she was already sloppy drunk. Damn trannie, it's barely midnight -- you need to slow the fuck down.

At any rate, my abrupt departure from Blake's wasn't due to my A.D.D. or penchant for boredom, but because of a blast from the past I was ill prepared for. You see, about six years ago I met Wes. We became fast friends and were both attached to each other much more than either cared to divulge. Truth be told, I was in love with the bastard and vice versa. Then one day he made the decision to move to Seattle. Needless to say, I lost track of Wes and often wonder what he's been up to, how he's been doing, etc.

Last night, I had the opportunity to ask all those questions and then some as I ran into him at Blake's. But, did I? Nope. I told him he looked good, gave him a hug, kissed him on the cheek and hit it right out the back door. On the way out the door, I felt very Verve and their video for "Bittersweet Symphony," just knocking into people without apology.

I bare no ill will towards him, I just wasn't prepared to see him or interact with him. I'm sure after a few drinks, it would have been like old times and the entire bar would have faded away to obnoxious laughter and more rounds of Jaeger. But, that was the way we acted years ago. In gay years, that's ancient history. And, I have no desire for history to repeat itself. Blame it on my A.D.D. or my penchant for boredom, but I just can't sit still.

Slippery when wet...

I MISS ROB. Rob is an old friend that had to move back to Boston because he landed this mega-gig with a TV station making nearly twice as much money as he made here in the ATL. We get along so well because we act exactly alike. One of my favorite stories is how we had actually met.

One night I was at Oscar's Atlanta having a martini or six when a deaf Brazilian (swear to God) came up to me and started miming a conversation. He even went so far to write stuff down on a bar napkin so I could understand him. After about fifteen minutes of pure buzzkill, Rob came over and pulled me away. No, we had never met, but I guess my aura exuded "bail me out immediately."

So, not even fifteen minutes later, this older gentleman started talking to Rob about how much medication he was on and how he probably shouldn't have another cocktail. Yup, you guessed right, he was having several anyway. Now it was my turn to bail out Rob. I came back over, put my arm around him and played the role of the boyfriend that arrived late. The medicated older gentleman got the hint and moved on to the next victim.

Fast forward to today, Rob and I just had a wonderful catch-up conversation on how things are going in our lives. Like most conversations involving gay men, the topic swung around to sex. Yeah, shocker. Apparently Rob just had this tasty little Latin number for a second go round. According to Rob, things were great but the lil' Latin Papi kept screaming for more lube.

Rob insisted that he was going to make roll-on lube so he wouldn't have to get his hands greasy to apply lube ever again. I thought about it for a second but realized that half the fun is wiping your hands on your partner and just having a dirty, worry about cleanup later good ol' time.

Rob agreed but came back with the fact that all the excess lube also ruins his expensive 1000 thread count sheets. With his new invention, you would roll on the desired amount with no overflow or spillage. And, since it was a roll-on, the lube would coat evenly.

I suggested that along with roll-on lube that he also created inexpensive roll-on disposable bed sheets -- something like what they have at a doctor's office but more comfortable and available in different styles. Rob just took the ball and ran with it, saying he would open up his roll-on bed sheets to designers like D&G, Gucci and Armani. I simply suggested Stain Guard.

Yeah, I miss Rob.

Enjoy the silence...

I AM SO FUCKING EXCITED. I just scored tickets to Depeche Mode's concert tomorrow night. The Bravery is opening and oddly enough, I'm excited to check them out as well. Wow, talk about a band that has defined the soundtrack of my life. From "Violator" to their most recent effort "Playing the Angel," there has always been some DM track playing in my life. From breakups with boyfriends (hell, even a girlfriend at some point -- we won't even get in to the irony of that "Policy of Truth") to road trips, sex soundtracks ("It's No Good") and everything in between, Martin and crew have been an influence right up there with EBTG, Prince, Madonna and Janet.

And, this show could not have come at a better time. Once in a while, I need to take a break from the queer circuit -- oh, who am I kidding? It's not like I'm the only 'mo that absolutely loves DM. At any rate, back to my original point, sometimes I just need to get away from the queer bars and "Enjoy the Silence."

Sleep is good...

I THINK I'M FINALLY CAUGHT UP ON MY SLEEP. This past weekend has just worn my ass out. It seems the entire crew was down and out by 12am last night and didn't do much of anything all day today.

One of the last things I remember was a phone call from Shawnna while Nicole and I were watching the second run of Nip/Tuck over Chocolate Mousse Cake and Strawberry Cheesecake.

(Sidebar: Nicole has temporarily moved in with me while she apartment hunts -- yes, pray for me.)

Shawnna had apparently stumbled on this fascinating show on CourtTV about this trannie, err drag queen that fooled this entire city in Colorado.

Apparently, this queen was able to steal cash, credit card numbers and even identities in this little town and got away with it for quite a while. I guess there weren't any 'mos in this city cause ANY card carrying fag or even lesbian would clock this man-in-a-dress. Even the name she used was overdone, it was something like Storm Ireland (allegedly Kathy's sister). I remember laughing until I teared up as Shawnna and Nicole started analyzing this queen to her cheap, Payless shoes.

Between the cake, cheesecake, sleeping aid(s) and CourtTV, I had some pretty interesting dreams. Thankfully, I can't remember any of them. This morning, err afternoon, Nicole insisted on finding cheap tickets for trips to Colorado. I told her to go back to bed.

Just Hateful...

PEOPLE GET CRANKY FOR VARIOUS REASONS. I get cranky when I'm exhausted, hungry or too hot. Last night I was exhausted. These party weekends should really stop early Monday morning and pushing it to Monday night is not a good idea -- just for future reference.

So, there I was at Blake's with the usual suspects when I got stuck in a conversation with, well let's call him "Nestea." Usually I can tolerate his bizarre, even obnoxious mannerisms -- the airkissing of both cheeks, the "dah-lings" and that other foo-foo shit. Last night, I just couldn't stomach any of it.

Over Nestea's shoulder, Ashley just kept rolling her eyes which only perpetuated my catty behavior and quips.

Nestea: Arman, why are gay men so hateful?
Me: How do you mean?
Nestea: Well, how are you gonna give someone your phone number when you know they have a boyfriend? And, their boyfriend is standing right there next to you?
Me: I didn't do that.
Nestea: No, not you.
Me: Oh, so it happened to you?
Nestea: Honey, if it happened to me, someone would be getting an ass whooping right now. See, why are gay men so hateful?
Me: I don't know. I don't hang out with people like that.
Nestea: Neither do I.
Me: So, why do you care?
Nestea: I don't.
Me: And, we're having this conversation because...?

At this point Nestea allowed himself to get pushed away by the crowd. Ashley and I had a good laugh.

Under normal circumstances, I probably would have engaged him in conversation on the bad habits of horny gay men. But, last night I was cranky. At the very least, I didn't tell him to fuck off -- that would be hateful.

Bad boys, Bad boys, Whatcha Gonna Do...

I GOT BUSTED BY A ROAD BLOCK.
Yeah, coming home from the Cabaret just filthy and doing about 90, I thought I was a goner. As it turns out, the really nice police officer complimented my "neat outfit," (see: mild mannered reporter costume) but gave me a citation for no proof of insurance not to mention an aneurysm.

Now, before any of you start -- I do have insurance, I swear. I just didn't have the stupid little card on me. So, a quick call to Geico this morning and a printed e-mail later, Voila I have proof of insurance. A trip to the post office tomorrow to get a photocopy of it certified and off it goes to the State of Georgia.

Luckily, Atlanta's finest didn't do too thorough of a search on my car (just a quick flashlight glance really) cause I'm sure there was enough evidence in the floorboards to put me away for 3-5 with good behavior. Lord.

So, what's a boy to do after pulling away? Yup, call the Cabaret and have Charlie announce the exact location of said roadblock. I'm such a teamplayer.

That's my girl...

LAST NIGHT, BARRY HARRIS CALLED OUT FROM HIS GIG AT JUNGLE. Just by working with the man in the past, I can truly say that he must have been pretty close to his death bed to not take the gig -- I mean, the man has got integrity.

So, in a very big leap of faith, Brad booked Kim Crawford to play substitute DJ. I say leap of faith because although Brad knows of Kim's reputation, he wasn't too familiar with her sound. I, however, am a hands-down-hardcore-the-bitch-kicks-ass type fan. I've seen what she can do with a dance floor whether there's 300 people or 3,000 people on it.

I can truly say the crowd went up for Kim last night. I was so proud of her. One of my favorite parts of last night was being up in the booth getting Kim to spin some of my favorite tunes like Jason Nevins' remix of "Nothing Fails" and just because, some "Heart Attack." From time to time a few people came up there to say that Kim was amazing and to find out who it was behind the tables. Brad even came up to me a couple of times to tell me that she was "kicking ass."

A few weeks ago, I remember having a heart-to-heart with Kim about where she "fits in" Atlanta's soundscape. She felt she wasn't "Tribal" or "Diva-Vocal-Tribal" enough for the gay masses who ideally is her target audience. I told her that there are a lot of talented DJs out there that have been playing for twice as long as she has but haven't received half the recognition that she's already accomplished. I did tell her to stick to her sound since it has done wonders for her thus far. Honestly, that's advice she didn't even need -- she won't concede to the musical trend du jour anyway.

And, last night proved she won't ever have to.

Yeah, that's my girl.

Sickening...

FOR HALLOWEEN LAST YEAR, I WAS THE MILD-MANNERED REPORTER AND NICOLE WAS MY ALTER EGO, SUPER TRANNIE. It's fun when costumes work in tandem.

This year I'm bringing back two of my former Halloween costumes instead of coming up with something new. Of course, the mild-mannered reporter will be back and the second is my postman gig, which I came up with years ago. In true Arman fashion, it can't be a regular postman, he's post going postal and the shootout with the local authorities. It's a rather high maintenance costume with the bullet holes and fake blood and all.

I'm really excited about tonight though. Barry Harris called out of his gig at Jungle because of a fever, so dear friend and DJ Diva, Kim Crawford will be stepping into the booth. I have a lot of local DJ friends, but Kim is different because I was a fan before she and I became friends. Her sound is amazing, mixing skill is impeccable and she's just a great gal in general. It's going to be like old times coordinating Nicole with Kim. Sometimes, I actually miss working at Compound.

Music: Makes the People...

LAST NIGHT AT THE CABARET, I GOT INTO THIS EXTENDED CONVERSATION WITH THE FORMER LIGHTING GUY OF BACKSTREET ATLANTA ABOUT MUSIC AND ITS CURRENT, SAD STATE ON THE DANCE FLOORS. I reminisced about days gone by and how today's tribal heavy tunes just don't have the same impact as the intricately layered jams of yesterday. We talked about the influence of meth on the BPMs, the demise of vinyl in favor of the MP3, today's DJ/Underwear model and how sex gets the booking over substance. It's all gotten a bit much.

And, just as most music conversations tend to do, we gravitated towards the pinnacle of gay man's music -- the "Diva." While most 'mos are in a tizzy about Madge's new single "Hung Up," I for one, refuse to buy into the hype. Don't get me wrong, I'll be one of a million queers waiting in line to purchase Confessions on a Dance Floor on Nov. 15, but I'm still on the fence. Hopefully, I'll gravitate towards it eventually much like I did "Music" after a few dozen spins. I was suckered into American Life and refuse to let it happen again. It's just sad when the remixes and publicity stunts overshadow the real body of work. Ahem, Damita Jo, anyone?

For now, I'm more than content with Kristine W's latest gem, "I'll Be Your Light" and Deborah Cox's "House Is Not A Home" to satisfy the "Diva" fix. Hell, even Alanis has got it going on with her remake of Seal's "Crazy." Which, by the way, the Eddie Baez Club Mix is to die for.

But, I digress. My point to all this is that music just ain't what it used to be. Will I be the jaded queen sitting there staring at my younger counterparts and rolling my eyes? Probably. Hell, the bitter and eye rolling are already givens. Give me the days of Progressive House a la PVD, Rabbit in the Moon, Sandra Collins, Sasha & Digweed; the days of Breakbeat Electro with Icey, DJ Dan and Hardware; D n' B served fast and furious by Aphrodite, Grooverider and LTJ Bukem. I long for the days when Tribal was something only Danny Tenaglia had trademarked.

Yeah, music makes the people...well, bitter.

See, what happened was...

Why is it the best stories always start out with "see, what happened was...," "I was minding my own business when..." or "Ok, here's the deal..?"

See, what happened was last night was the Oscar's Atlanta's 5th Year Anniversary. Needless to say, an open bar tends to bring out all sorts. I got there late as per usual. It wasn't my fault really, I had Shawnna and Nicole with me. Not to say that it was completely their fault, but for once, I was actually on time to pick them up.

Now, Oscar's can't really hold that many people. Quite possibly, at its most sardined capacity it can contain 200 people and that's with a bunch of people on the patio. We congratulated the staff and owners of the lovely lounge and hit it (see: left, departed, leave quickly) on over to Cherry for Nicole's show with EJ. The usual suspects were in the audience including a special visit by Brad, Debi Lowry (I love her) and Jade Daniels.

After the show, we went over to Blake's for what was supposed to be a nightcap. Yeah, who were we kidding? After more Cactus, more vodka and more of anything else the bartenders could put in the shot glasses, it was back to Ansley for more chaos at Burkhart's and (surprise, surprise) Oscar's.

And, we thought we were filthy (see: drunk, pickled, wasted)? Oh, we had nothing on the Oscar's crew. They were living it up and couldn't take none of Nicole.

I was just minding my own business and got scolded for the girls not leaving tips (Nicole), going into the bathroom together (Nicole and well, whoever would wander in there with her) and for me being the quietest (see: sober) of the group. Honestly, can anyone really match the volume of Nicole's 20hz voice?

OK, so here's the deal, next time you see her, be sure to ask about the 50 or so balloons the bitch took into the bathroom with her. When Kent (one of Oscar's bartenders) opened the door, all you could see was hair, streamers and silver and blue balloons. From the bar, it looked like a Far Side cartoon waiting to happen.